


Magnificent Facades (Crumble And Burn)

by Topaz_Eyes



Category: Strike Back
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But they get better, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: fandomweekly, Everyone lives, First Kiss, Jossed, M/M, Mention of Character Death, Pining, Prompt Fic, the last 6 episodes never happened la la la
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22501957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: “Rumours of my execution were greatly exaggerated.”"It aired live on national TV, dickhead."
Relationships: Samuel Wyatt/Thomas ‘Mac’ McAllister
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Magnificent Facades (Crumble And Burn)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Fascist Architecture,” music and lyrics by Bruce Cockburn, copyright 1980 True North Records. Inspired by [Challenge 037 – Reunion](https://fandomweekly.dreamwidth.org/285728.html) at [](https://fandomweekly.dreamwidth.org/profile)[fandomweekly](https://fandomweekly.dreamwidth.org/), bonus goal: “I thought you were dead.”
> 
> Diverges from canon after s8e4, so this is AU.

Wyatt pushed the door bell to the unassuming terraced house in London and waited with growing impatience for Mac and Novin to answer.

Excited, and a bit nervous, he ran his hand through his hair. God but he’d been looking forward to this reunion for too long. When had they been together last? He’d spent sixteen months recovering in hospital and rehab after their last mission. After he’d been finally deemed well enough to be discharged, it had taken him another four months to track Mac and Novin to this address. (They’d gone to ground for some unknown reason; no one he’d contacted was willing to explain why, either.)

Yeah, they’d been separated for almost two years, but that didn’t matter now that he was here. He was more than ready to rectify it.

Within twenty seconds he heard movement behind the front door, but to his surprise it didn’t fly open immediately. After another twenty seconds elapsed, however, Wyatt began to wonder why the hell no one was answering. He was sure he had the correct address, and it was clear that they were home –

Finally, the deadbolt clicked, the doorknob turned, and Wyatt’s anticipation spiked. He grinned widely with genuine pleasure at seeing his teammates and best friends again. Then the door opened, and Mac stood in the doorway, staring him down.

To Wyatt’s bewilderment, Mac looked none too pleased to see him.

Wyatt’s smile faltered briefly at Mac’s distrusting scowl. Mac of all people should be thrilled to see him again. Must be just the initial shock because he hadn’t called ahead to give a heads-up. He really couldn’t blame him for that. So Wyatt grinned even wider. “Hey, Big Mac,” he began, spreading his arms wide to engulf him in a bear hug, “how’s it--?”

Mac cold-cocked him with a swift right hook to his jaw.

Wyatt staggered with the explosion of pain through the whole left side of his face. His head spinning, he blindly clutched the porch rail to keep from tumbling backwards down the front steps. “Mac, what the fuck?” he tried to say through a mouth on fire.

Running steps approached from inside, and Novin crowded into the threshold.

She sized up the situation in an instant. “Oh for fuck’s sake!” she said. She forcibly pinned Mac’s arms to his sides just as he started to wind up for a second round.

“Mac. _Mac!_ Stop! That’s enough,” she snapped in his ear. “That’s _enough_ , mate.”

Mac visibly tensed, his expression murderous, and he twisted in Novin’s tight grip. For a split second, Wyatt thought he would burst from Novin’s hold. He crouched, fists curling on instinct to defend himself.

In a gentler voice, Novin continued, “Go cool off, yeah? Calm down. I’ve got this. Go.”

Mac’s fury drained almost instantly and he stilled in Novin’s arms. After a tense moment she released him, poised to tackle him again; instead he pivoted on his heel, his jaw set, and stomped up the hall stairs without a word to either Novin or Wyatt. Wyatt straightened and stared at Mac’s retreating back, stunned.

_What the actual fuck?_

Novin also watched Mac ascend the steps, her brow furrowed with concern, until he disappeared from sight. Then she pushed her bangs off her face before she turned to Wyatt, her eyes wide.

“You all right, dickhead?”

Wyatt gingerly probed around his mouth with his tongue, trying not to move too much. “Think so. Don’t think anything’s broken.”

“More than it is, you mean.” Novin regarded him for a long moment, a multitude of emotions crossing her sharp features. “My God, it really is you,” she whispered finally, her eyes glistening. Her lower lip quivered before her smile split her face wide open and she embraced him, taking care not to jostle his chin or his cheek. “Jesus Christ, Wyatt, I thought you were dead. We all thought you were dead.”

Now this was more like the greeting he’d expected. “Glad to see you too, short stuff,” Wyatt said, tightening his arms around her and lifting her off the floor with unrestrained joy. He didn’t care how his jaw complained. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in her familiar scent of citrus and machine oil. “God, it’s great to see you again.”

After a long moment he set her down, smiling at her as best he could through the pain.

“If I’d known Mac was gonna do that I’d’ve answered the door myself,” Novin apologized.

“No worries,” Wyatt said.

“So come on in,” she said, “and ignore the tip. Had no clue you were coming--”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“No shit.”

They picked their way through a narrow hallway to the small, cramped kitchen at the back of the townhouse. Wyatt sat at the table while Novin headed straight to the fridge.

“Want some Nurofen?”

“Yeah, sure.” She took a pill bottle from the top of the fridge and set it on the table, followed by a glass of water. Wyatt kept glancing at the entrance to the kitchen, wondering if Mac would re-appear soon and what the hell he was going to say if he did. “Got some frozen peas?” he asked after tossing two pills down.

“Just a mo.” She opened the freezer and rummaged through its contents until she withdrew an ice pack. She wrapped the ice pack in a dish towel and passed it over. Wyatt sighed with the relief of the cold compress on his face as she moved to the counter to put on the kettle.

“What’s up with Mac?”

The smile fell from her face, and her brow furrowed as she tried to work out just how much to say. “He took it the worst of all of us,” Novin said at last.

She didn’t elaborate further, though, and an awkward silence fell as they waited for the kettle to boil. Wyatt watched her drop some spoonfuls of ground coffee into a waiting carafe and set out mugs. This wasn’t right, he decided. It seemed positively too domestic for Novin. Wyatt had tried civilian life himself once a few years ago and couldn’t hack it. As it turned out, Section 20 had been his only real home. He wondered how Mac and Novin managed it now. She seemed wildly out of place in this kitchen; they all did. How the hell had they, the elite of elite soldiers, ended up here?

“This isn’t the homecoming I expected,” Wyatt said at length.

Novin leaned back on the counter and folded her arms across her middle. “We weren’t expecting any homecoming at all,” she pointed out.

Wyatt winced, but conceded, “Yeah, that’s a fair point.”

“You know Mac blamed himself for you getting caught, yeah?”

Of course he did. It was supposed to have been a routine in-and-out exfil. Except wires had gotten crossed, important intel had never been passed on, and they’d gone in woefully unprepared for the number of tangos surrounding their target. That, plus their target had been sat on top of a dead-man’s switch. Wyatt had volunteered to remain behind, switching places on the seat to allow Mac and the target to escape. Which had led to his capture by the combatants, and then...

“Actually it wasn’t his fault.”

“You know that, I know that, but this is Mac we’re talking about here,” Novin said. “And then, when they broadcast your execution –”

“Rumours of my execution were greatly exaggerated,” he said.

“It aired live on national TV, dickhead,” Novin said, reproach clear in her voice. “The whole world watched it go down.”

Wyatt looked away, chastened. He knew as well as she did how it had gone down. And he knew he had been declared clinically dead after the bullet pierced his skull. Except somehow he wasn’t; he’d spent several months in a coma instead. There were still permanent fragments lodged in the bone, the scars hidden by his hair.

“As far as the world’s concerned, you’re officially dead. On the bright side, you missed your funeral. Full military honours. Coltrane and Zarkova both gave a great eulogy. Better than you deserved.”

Wyatt stifled a wry chuckle. “I’m touched.”

The kettle sang. Novin unplugged it and poured hot water into the carafe with deceptively relaxed movements. When she finished, she leaned against the counter again and grabbed a second dish towel, twisting it in her hands.

“Tell me, Wyatt, how the fuck did you survive that shot? Point blank to the back of the head, there’s no coming back from that.”

“I was born part cat?” Wyatt said with a weak grin.

Novin’s expression darkened. “Be serious, dickwad –”

“I don’t know, Gracie. The doctors didn’t know either, but I survived and I’m not about to question a miracle. I’m back now, isn’t that what counts?”

Novin rolled her eyes, but nodded her agreement. Her expression didn’t lighten, however. “Yeah, it’s great you’re back, but now you get to explain it to Mac. Have fun with that, by the way. He might just want to finish the job.”

“I kinda gathered that.” With his jaw and cheek comfortably numb for the moment, Wyatt set the ice pack down on the table and shook his head. “He really took it that hard?”

Novin regarded him soberly for a long minute. “It broke him, Wyatt,” she said at last. “For awhile, we weren’t even sure he’d make it. If you’d seen him drop to his knees after you took that bullet–”

“Jesus,” Wyatt whispered, visualizing the scene in his mind. He caught himself shuddering.

Novin sighed, pressed a plunger down into the carafe, and poured two mugs of coffee. “Yeah. His military career’s over. Got sectioned out after, forced to retire. It’s better now, but I mean, he let you off light with that punch.”

She set down a blue mug in front of him, then returned to the counter while Wyatt digested the news. Holy shit, he thought. He’d figured Mac would be the last person to break like that. Especially over him.

“And you’re here because –?”

“Section 20 was disbanded. Whitehall made Mac and me the scapegoats per usual. We were pariahs, worse than after Tenebrae. We had nowhere else to go. I took my discharge and got a civvy job. I’m a heavy equipment mechanic now. And we live together.”

“So, you and Mac –?” he asked delicately.

“Not like that. But me and Mac, we stick together cos no one else will have us.” She looked up and scowled at the ceiling. “After all we did for those bastards.”

Wyatt ached at the hurt in her voice. He rose from the table, went to her and gave her a one-armed hug, leaning his good cheek on top of her head. “I’m sorry, Grace.”

“Not your fault, being dead and all.”

After a moment, he let her go and sat back down. “I guess I really should go talk to him.”

“Don’t be surprised if he won’t listen to ya.” Novin took a sip of coffee from a chipped green mug.

Wyatt picked up his mug from the table, and drank half its contents, thinking he should’ve asked for something stronger instead. “Where is he now?” he asked after he set his mug down again.

“Roof, most likely. Up the stairs, top level, down the hall, trap door on the ceiling at the end.”

Wyatt rose, gingerly touching his chin. “Okay. Wish me luck.”

“Yeah, you’ll need all of it and then some.”

~~

As Novin had promised, when Wyatt poked his head up from the trap door to the roof, Mac was silhouetted against the grey late afternoon sky.

Wyatt didn’t step out right away, however, preferring to observe him instead while he worked out how best to approach him. Mac paced around the enclosed edge of the roof with a restlessness bordering on agitation. Mac had always been kinda intense, the type who kept everything in until he exploded, but he’d never seen Mac this upset before. It was hugely unsettling to watch him in so much pain –

Not to mention that Mac’s rejection of him earlier had hurt like hell.

Mac didn’t seem aware of Wyatt, though; or if he was, he didn’t seem to care. After a couple of minutes, when he decided Mac probably wouldn’t use him as a punching bag the minute he opened his mouth, Wyatt carefully let himself out all the way and closed the trap door.

“There you are,” Wyatt said with as much cheerfulness as he could muster. Which wasn’t all that much, because even after the ice and the painkillers, his whole face ached like a son-of-a-bitch.

Mac flinched at Wyatt’s voice, but he didn’t turn around. Wyatt tried to feel like he wasn’t invading Mac’s space. Still, Wyatt waited until he was satisfied Mac wasn’t going to come at him again, then crossed the flat roof to join him near the edge.

A waist-high cinder wall ran all around; Wyatt leaned his elbows on it and stared down at the two gleaming Triumph Bonnevilles parked in the postage-stamp sized back garden. He whistled in appreciation. “Are those the original 1959 vintage T120s? You know how rare those are?”

Beside him, Mac stared straight ahead, motionless but for the clench and release of his fists. Wyatt could almost hear the tension vibrate through him, and he wondered how much energy Mac was burning to restrain himself. He sighed inwardly. Talking to him was going to be like pulling teeth.

Directness was always the best approach with Mac, so he dropped all further pretence. “Novin brought me up to speed with what happened on your end,” Wyatt said.

Mac finally spoke. “Did she, now.”

Wyatt tried not to wince at the surly undertone. “I hear you’re retired,” he tried again after another tense moment of waiting.

“Yeah. Put out to pasture whether I wanted it or not.” Mac stared straight ahead over the London skyline.

“You got another gig lined up?”

Mac stubbornly refused to answer. Wyatt studied the top of the wall, trying to figure out another way past Mac’s defences.

He tried humour next. “Hey, it’s not every day you come back from the grave,” he said with a quick, self-deprecating grin.

In profile, he watched Mac scowl outright. Ouch. He was not buying any of it. “Oh come on, we’ve worked long enough together, each of us has been ‘dead man walking’ at least once,” Wyatt said. “Should be used to it.”

But the sullen silence dragged on, dragging Wyatt’s optimism down with it. “You know, Mac, most people would be glad to see their best friend back from the dead,” he said, attempting to mask his rapidly fraying patience with deliberate lightness and failing badly. “They’d be fucking ecstatic –”

Mac rounded on him at that. “Yeah, you’re back. That’s great. That’s fantastic. What do you want, a party?”

Wyatt clutched the wall, feeling like he’d just been sucker-punched again. “Jesus Christ, asshole, how the fuck can you not be happy I survived?”

“I’ll throw you a parade, then. Want a medal too, to mark the occasion? That enough for you?”

He clenched his fists at his sides again and turned away. Wyatt glowered at Mac’s rigid back, his own fury and hurt rising from deep in his core; he was ready to throw a punch himself.

“What do you want me to say here, Mac? I’m sorry I got caught? Sorry I got executed on live TV? I sure as hell am _not_ going to apologize for surviving. You know, I wouldn’t have been on that stage at all if you’d fought the tangos off just a little longer –”

Mac pivoted to face Wyatt, his features twisted with remorse, and something else, that seemed to seep from every pore of his being. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“I don’t know, man, seeing how fucking selfish you’re acting right now, like it’s my fault that I lived. Plus, you punched me at the door downstairs. I’m thinking that should’ve been the other way around.”

“Yeah, you should’ve punched me,” Mac agreed, “cos I deserve it. Like I should’ve taken that bullet too, not you. But you had to be the fucking hero.” He turned away, adding half under his breath, “At least I would’ve stayed dead to let you move on.”

Wyatt heard Mac’s aside clearly, however, and a brief, shocked silence fell like a thunderclap. “You’re a nasty piece of work, McAllister,” Wyatt said when he recovered. He wagged an accusatory finger at him. “Novin, she was happy to see me. Real happy. You? I get it, you don’t want me around. Fine. Okay then. _Fuck you._ Have a nice life.” Fuming, he turned away and took two steps towards the trap door leading to the rest of the apartment.

“I didn’t mean that,” Mac said. “That’s not what I meant.”

Wyatt paused on the third step, his anger deflating at the quiet desperation in his tone. “Then what did you mean, exactly?” he asked, suddenly feeling like Mac’s outburst might not have been merely out-sized guilt. He turned to face him, genuinely puzzled. “What’s really going on with you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mac replied curtly. He buttoned up again, his mouth set in a grim line.

But Wyatt didn’t miss the brief flash of something – was that yearning? – on Mac’s face before he shut down. “I think it does,” Wyatt said, a glimmer of comprehension dawning. “And I think we should take some time to examine it.”

He could almost hear Mac’s strained gulp. “Not a chance,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Not when you’ll just pick up where you left off like nothing’s changed at all.”

“That’s not true –” Wyatt began to protest, but was cut off.

“I can’t go back to living like that again. I can’t.”

And there it was. Wyatt stood, mouth agape for several seconds as the epiphany struck. “How long—how long have you felt like this about me?” Wyatt asked softly, his mind spinning as if Mac had physically clocked him again. How long had Mac been quietly pining for him before their final mission? Weeks? Months?

Since the day they’d first met?

“God, you’re so stupid,” Mac said, bitterly dismissive. “Like that hasn’t changed either.”

Mac did have a point there, Wyatt had to admit. How clueless had he been before, to miss the signs so completely over the years? “Mac, I never meant to hurt you –” he began, contrite.

“Shut it, Wyatt. Just go and leave me in peace.”

Mac’s voice was so thick, he was wound so tight, he was going to crack wide open at any moment. Wyatt’s own vision blurred as he realized he was on the brink of losing Mac for good.

No, Wyatt vowed. Not when he’d just found him again. “Look, Mac,” he pleaded, “my being back was not supposed to happen. If you want me to stay away permanently, to make it easier, I will. But I don’t want to.” _God, I don’t want to_ , he added inwardly, with a clarity that stunned him. _Because I still need you in my life._

Blinking furiously, Mac turned his back on Wyatt again, tilting his head up to look at the skies above.

Wyatt had to struggle to keep the tremor from his voice. “Whatever this is, whatever you want from me, we can work it out.” He gestured back and forth between them. “I promise you, we will work it out. Together, you and me. You have my word.”

Mac’s blistering reply cut him to the quick. “Why should I believe you, mate?”

Wyatt closed his eyes for a moment, fighting another urge to strike out himself in his frustration. “I don’t blame you for doubting me,” Wyatt said finally. “But – maybe I realize now, I never appreciated what I had in front of me before. Maybe I’m more open-minded than I used to be.”

Wyatt paused, then drew a deep, shaky breath. “And mainly because I realize I’ve been given a second chance to do something right with my life. And I want to do it with you. If you’ll let me.” He prayed that had been the right thing to say.

Mac released one ragged breath, then another. But slowly, slowly, Mac’s trembling ceased; he relaxed, and he wiped a tired hand across his face. Wyatt breathed a sigh of profound relief. He knew by instinct though, not to go to Mac just yet, as much as he wanted to.

“You know what though, I am genuinely sorry it took me four months to track you down,” Wyatt conceded. “I woulda been here a lot earlier if you hadn’t gone to ground. So I guess that one’s on you, Mac.”

Mac’s answering laugh sounded more like a sob, but Wyatt would take it. With the tension between them finally dissolving, he spread his arms out, beckoning. “Come here, man,” Wyatt offered. “Come on.”

Mac turned around at that; his answering grin was weak, but genuine. “Over your dead body.”

“Been there, done that. Didn’t stick.” He was rewarded with a second splutter of laughter followed by a quick sniff. “Come here, McAllister,” he repeated, “or I’ll come to you.”

The sniff turned to an outright derisive snort. “We’re gonna hug it out now. Is this a threat.”

“I was kinda hoping for that when I saw you downstairs.” Wyatt rubbed his tender chin. Yep, that was going to be one spectacular bruise tomorrow. “I think you owe me at least one good welcome back hug right now.”

The smile fell from Mac’s face, and Wyatt tried not to be taken aback by how weary he appeared. How hopeful. How fucking terrified. That makes two of us, he thought, thinking of the promise he’d just made.

“I can’t lose you again, mate,” Mac said softly. “I can’t. It almost killed me last time.” He took one small, hesitant step forward, then another.

“I’m here now,” Wyatt replied, and stepped ahead himself. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

They approached each other slowly until they met halfway. Up close and facing each other, Wyatt studied the deep lines around Mac’s eyes, the furrows around his mouth and across his forehead. Jesus, but Mac had aged these last few years.

The next thing Wyatt knew, Mac grabbed him and clasped him tighter than Wyatt could ever remember anyone doing in his life. He returned the squeeze, then let himself sink wholeheartedly into Mac’s arms. He burrowed into the curve of Mac’s neck with a jagged, relieved sigh.

God, he’d been waiting for this embrace for far too long. “Good to see you, man,” Wyatt murmured huskily against his ear. “Fuck, I missed you.”

“Missed you too, dickhead,” Mac replied in a hoarse whisper, clutching the back of Wyatt’s head for dear life. If Wyatt noticed his Hawaiian shirt slowly grow damp on his shoulder, he didn’t mention it. He felt too overwhelmed himself to care. Besides, he was probably doing the exact same thing to Mac’s shirt, too.

They stayed almost motionless for a long time. When they finally pulled back, Mac wasn’t exactly smiling, but he looked a hell of a lot happier than Wyatt figured he’d been since before the exfil went pear-shaped. He watched Mac’s gaze rove over his face, already anticipating where it would land.

Wyatt wasn’t going to kid himself: they hadn’t been lovers before for many reasons, most of which had to do with his own fear of loss. If that’s what Mac wanted from him now, he was more than ready to dive in. He wasn’t about to waste a second chance to fix this and make something they could’ve—no, they should’ve—had a long time ago.

As Wyatt predicted, Mac’s gaze settled over Wyatt’s mouth. His heart ached with the open longing written all over Mac’s features; Wyatt allowed his own to well up in response. He swallowed hard with anticipation, felt himself nodding almost imperceptibly before he inclined his head. Bring it on, he thought as Mac closed the distance and his eyes fluttered closed.

They met with a soft, tentative brush of lips. Someone moaned at the contact; it might’ve been himself. It didn’t matter who. What mattered was Mac, solid and warm against him in his arms, Mac whose lips probed Wyatt’s with increasing confidence as Wyatt returned kiss for kiss, breath for breath. What mattered was how right it felt to stand here and kiss him like this.

What mattered was how he felt like he’d finally come home.

The movement jarred his tender jaw, though, and eventually it stung enough that Wyatt had to break away. “Ow, shit,” he muttered. “Goddamnit.”

Mac’s mouth twisted in an apologetic grin. “Sorry about that, mate,” he said. He pressed their foreheads together, his fingers toying with the hair at the nape of Wyatt’s neck. “We’ll pick this part up later when you’re more up to it, all right?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” He could wait a little while longer to find out how he and Mac would work together from now on. Right now, Wyatt was more than happy to be just where he was.

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this was written before the 8th season trailer was released, so certain ideas are merely coincidental.


End file.
